


The (Not-So) Chilling Adventures of Kali and Her Quest to Find Who Contributed to Her Gene Pool Other Than Motherfucker #1

by craftingdead



Series: with the door closed, shades drawn, the world shrinks [1]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Diary/Journal, Gen, Ghetto's A Paranoid Dad, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-10-01 17:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17248229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: Kali Reid is not an idiot. She is not a dumbass. Not a buffon. Her twins sister may be all those things and more, but Kali sure as hell isn't. And her dad is hiding something from her. He's hiding something from all of them, probably has been for a very long time. And Kali's determined to get to the bottom of it, even if the answer turns out to not exactly to be of her liking. Or anyone's liking.





	1. i'm not hurt i'm broken, but i called to say i'm fine

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my new funky fresh AU. i will most definitely be writing more for this AU, especially kali&evie. i will try my gotdamn best to upload all of this without very long breaks in between, but no promises.
> 
> all chapter titles from [american shoes - rainbow kitten surprise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6A9UIGahFdc)
> 
> (P.S. i am not correcting ANYTHING kali writes with grammarly. she is a dumbass twelve year old trying to sound smart and coherent. nobody say a fucking WORD about how her journal is formatted.)

Date: 8/24/XX

Kali Reid writing:

That motherfucker’s hiding something.

I knew it all along. From the way he talks, to the pictures he keeps on the shelves, to the way he hardly mentions Jade’s last name? He’s hiding something. It has to be something big. Something outstanding. Jade is the only one of us to have a different last name. Is our dearest father trying to hide away the mistress he had us with? The dazzling prostitute who left him with two kids and then came back for more? Jett calls me a paranoid bitch. I’d prefer to refer to myself as a conspiracist, digging into the mystique for answers left unsaid by my dearest, loveliest father.

Ugh. It’s getting uncomfortable to call him father for so long, especially when the person of mention will never read this, if I have anything to say about it. Dear readers, (if there are any of you) I apologize if I switch up his names frequently while explaining. It’s hard to keep track when I call him so many things. I’d call him by his actual name, Jesper (which I learned from Aunty Jess), or the nickname he uses, Ghetto, but that’d get confusing quick. What if I accidentally called him Gesper? Jhetto? It would be mortifying. So, I shall stick to the classics: “Father” (though not frequently), “Dad,” “Daddy,” “Pops,” and, the timeless, “Pa.”

If I ever catch anyone making fun of the names I use for my flesh-and-blood, I will not hesitate to hunt you down, skin you alive, and throw the remains to the dogs for making fun of me, Kali Reid, a currently twelve-year-old girl for calling her Dad “Daddy.” This has been a warning.

Before continuing on with my explanation on why my dad may be a motherfucker concealed by warm, familiar moments and being the only one to indulge in all my “stranger hobbies” (Jett, once again, calls me a bitch for liking horror and the occult. Jett, if you ever break into my room and read this, eat shit. I know you read  _Naruto_ comics and lie about reading X-Men. Why, you may ask? When I asked you who X-23, you tried to claim like you knew her by going “Oh! That girl!” when, in reality, if you had known her, you wouldn’t have looked confused when I referred to her as Wolverine in a one-off line to test your knowledge on Marvel characters. You cannot lie directly to my face and get away with it, Jett). I would like to give a callout to a one and only Ashlyn: despite being older and more “mature” than us younger folks, that does not give you the authority to play footsie with the cute girl you met last week under the table when you could, by horrid incident, accidentally hit my foot and receive a hard kick to the calf. It’s not my fault your eyes welled up with tears. It’s your fault for engaging in something so ludicrous when you knew for a fact your younger, innocent cousin was sitting at the table with you.

As well, that ruffled black-and-white skirt you got me last Christmas does not make up for this. I know you brought it up after the pretty girl had left, but trust me, you got that kick well and earned. However, I do love the skirt.

Now, onto the good stuff: for those of you who may not know, my dad is a single parent. Throughout my entire life, I have seen no other trace of any parent in this house (other than vague memories from when I was young. However, I can hardly place them, so using them as an example of parental experiences towards oneself would be unfitting, and frankly, selfish). My daddy raised us with the help of my Uncles Sky and Barney, Aunts Jess and Shelby, and handfuls of other aunts and uncles that I will not mention, for fear of dragging this on too long. For any relatives who may be reading this, I apologize if I have not mentioned you thoroughly. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

Leaving off on that, all I’ve ever known as “family” (other than aforementioned aunts and uncles) was Dad, my twin sister, Evie, and younger sister, Jade, who’s birthday just so happened to pass very recently. My dad has a fair amount of photos in the house; from pictures of him and friends and family, to us, the kids, and a few of people I do not know: a younger boy, even younger than me, who looks like him; two people who, if they were alive, I might consider “grandparents”; an unfamiliar, older man who looks vaguely familiar to my dad (EDIT: since writing this, I’ve learned that the man was my dad’s uncle, Ronan). The boy is most interesting. Does his existence mean that my dad has had kids before us? My father has never mentioned younger siblings, so my ideas may be most probable.

The importance of these photos is that, even if they’re dead, even if my dad hasn’t had the most happy relationship with them (I’ve heard stories about his parents, though vaguely, and through eavesdropping), he keeps memorials. Hell, I’ve even spotted a photo or two of Cory in old photo albums, most of them including Uncle Uni and an unfamiliar man.

So, this begs the questions: why would my father have no notable photos of whoever my mother (or other father) may be, despite all of these other occurrences of people he’d like less?

Before I continue on, I’d like to apologize to some of my more… noticable readers. If you had been paying close attention to the paragraph at the top, you would’ve seen me mentioning that I did not wish to refer to my dad as “Father” frequently throughout this text. However, that has been getting much, much harder than I thought it would. Perhaps my joking nicknames of affection (as much as I show to anyone) may be rubbing off on me more than I think. Does he like it as well? I hope it doesn’t bother him.

Anyways. Yesterday, since I am not the subtlest person in the world, I asked him who the last person he loved was. Completely deadpan. He nearly screamed and turned around really quickly and, to be fair, I asked him at three AM when he was downstairs making a three AM snack of ramen and sparkling water. He didn’t answer my question, instead holding me in a headlock and threatening to pour sparkling water on my head for scaring him. I don’t blame him. I forgot all about the question, seeing as I was laughing too hard to pay attention properly.

But that’s not the end of the story. I’ve heard him talk about his “past” love life with other people before. Most notably, Aunt Shelby. And Aunt Jess once or twice before. Honestly, I personally believe the latter was because of pressure, not because he actually wanted to do it.

All I know is that he has had long-term relationships, and from the way they talked, they might’ve spawned more than just two loving partners. It bred more than just passion and hope between a person and another person who love each other very much. I’m sorry for the innuendos but it’s true. Even if they were shitty innuendos. Also, Jett and Evie told me to put some in the “next time you write in the corner of the room while looking up at people suspiciously for time to time.” I, personally, wasn’t a fan of that evaluation, but to outsiders it may deem true, and if they see me weird than so be it. Immature fucks.

I should stop getting off topic so often. It is hard, however, when you’re family is a bunch of immature fucks.

So. Back to the conversation at hand. All I’ve managed to eavesdrop from their talks (and trust me, I’ve tried multiple times) before they either 1) found me out or 2) it became too risky to hang around any longer isn’t… as much as I’d wish it to be.

Dad’s gay. That’s a snapple fact for you at home. I’m not surprised, no one in this family is straight. What I’m more surprised is how we (note: the kids, me, Evie, and Jade) came to be. Was it before he was fully out to himself? It is possible, but then again, he’s never shown any interest in women before, nor has any of the letters and notes I totally didn’t scavenge around for to figure him out mention any kind of fondness towards women. But, then again, internalized homophobia  _is_ a bitch. Another option to consider is the possibility of a transgender partner. I hate to word it like that, but for ignorant folks who read these journal entries and, trust me, I know you do, I can tell that this thing gets broken into way more often than it fucking should. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Dad isn’t a bad person. I would add adoption to this, but Sky has photos of Dad crying over me when I was just born, and multiple people have confirmed that, no, there was no surrogate parent that might’ve provided children for him. I asked a lot of people (I pestered Uncle Sky until he told me the truth).

So, for now, that leaves two options: either a woman, or a transgender individual. I believe that the second, most likely, is the closest to the truth as I can get. So, two things from my initial investigations are down: I can find no pictures of anyone that seem off-putting enough to render them a possible candidate for another parent, and since my dad’s gay, there’s a very high chance that a women wouldn’t be in the equation, especially the answers to our adoption and surrogacy dilemma.

Oh no. Evie saw me writing this and told me to suggest that a stork might’ve dropped me and her off. While that could be true, where does it leave Jade? Evie, dearest sister who won’t even read this, where does it leave Jade? Huh? Huh? Was she too dropped off by some stork who could care less about the children they’re dropping off for minimum wage, Evie?

Anyways. I really need to stop getting off-track. Petty jabs at my sister can wait for another day.

So. Another thing I should bring up is that I know some… names, despite Cory. I know, I know what you’re thinking: “But Kali not every fucking stranger could be your possible-other-parent!” and I know that, I’m not an idiot, but if there’s even a chance they could connect into whoever this person is… I wanna know, so I’ll be taking the appropriate steps to try and learn. Maybe I should start referring to whoever my (and, technically, Evie and Jade’s) other parent is because solely “other parent” is starting to feel Coraline-esque. I wouldn’t be a fan if my “other parent” happened to be a freak who had buttons for eyes, so as I write this, I will be thinking up a name for them. Something catchy.

The names I know so far, from eavesdropping and snooping around, are: Red, Ross, Max, Mousie, and a few others, but those are the most mentioned. I think there might’ve been another. Nadiya or Nika or Nike maybe? Something that started with an N. Can’t remember. I only heard it in hushed passing, so whoever they are, the big guys really don’t want us knowing about ‘em.

I know for a fact that Red and Ross won’t be much help. They are, respectively, some of the worst people to ever live. A cannibal sadist-rapist and a literal “Mad Scientist?” Do not want to be a part of that. I’ll be staying very far away from mentioning them in passing, thank you. Max is an enigma. All I know is that he helped my dad and some friends and family out years ago, even before I was born. He’s really not important, but it’s always good to bring in as many people as possible to the equation, even to just remove them as being a possibility. Mousie wouldn’t be a part of it heavily, from what I’ve heard about her, but she’d know a lot. Only comes over once in a while, she was the first person I heard mention the N-dude so that may be good to look into the next time she visits. Whenever that is. So, we’ve narrowed down the list of people known and mentioned even more. Things can only go uphill from here.

I believe that’s enough for tonight. I’ve been writing a lot more than I do usually, and Evie is giving me weird looks from across the room. I don’t want her to attempt and snatch this journal out of my hands before I can successfully stash it in my room.

So, this is goodbye for now. I will be pondering all of this over later tonight. I really do hope it's coherent enough. I am only twelve, after all. And I believe I am going to be referring to this “other parent” as Lynx from now on out, because of Jade. It’s fitting, seeing as it is their last name, most likely.

Goodnight, readers.

—Kali.

* * *

Ghetto watches her write in the corner of the room. Huddled up in a small chair, a blanket thrown over her lap and tucked around the side of her shoulder and back of her neck. Sharpened pencil in hand, scribbling away at her journal. Occasionally, she frowns and crosses out lines to rewrite them or flips back a few pages and writes something else out, but he doesn’t know what it is. Probably won’t ever know, if that’s what she chooses. If his daughter doesn’t want to share her private journal with him, then he won’t snoop and go through her stuff, y’know, like a douchebag.

Evie’s nearest to him, throwing a small ball up into the air and catching it while shooting looks back at Kali, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He can feel her want to go over there and throw that journal to the floor and announce that they were doing something, but before she can, Kali snaps her journal shut and hurries off her spot on the floor to her room, to stash it wherever she does.

A guttural groan sounds from near him. “Why does she spend so much time in that journal?” Evie complains, letting the ball fall to the floor and roll away. “She always ignores me whenever she starts doing… whatever she does! Writing, journaling, whatever! It’s annoying.”

“Maybe because she enjoys doing it,” Ghetto says while going to pick up the pencil Kali left behind, “and doesn’t want to be bothered by her sister while she does it?”

“Maybe you  _don’t_ want to be bothered by your sister while you… do it,” Evie says, falling short on her last line and huffing into annoyed silence.

“It’s not your sister's fault she wants privacy,” Ghetto says and damn, he can really feel his Uncle’s voice radiating in his words. It almost makes him stop short. Even after twelve years, it was still a trip to hear himself be parental. Felt weird in some way, wrong to be taking all the responsibility for it. Selfish.

Evie bristles. “Well, that’s fine, but maybe she should stop being such a bitch about it sometimes!”

“Language.” Ghetto drops the pencil onto the table and reminds himself to shove it under Kali’s door later because she was most definitely not coming back for it. “It’s not my fault your sister is being, and I quote you on this, a ‘bitch.’ It’s your fault for not considering other people’s feelings, fool.”

Usually, turning a serious lesson into a joke worked on Evie. Made her feel less guilty after hearing it, reminded her that she wasn’t the only person on Earth in a way that didn’t make Ghetto feel like shit after seeing the look on her face. Today was not one of those days. She instead turned to Ghetto, shot him a look only tweens were capable of, full of such malice for a twelve-year-old girl, turned tail and stormed out of the room.

Great. The only thing worse would be if Kali was pissed at him too.

And apparently, she is, since when they go for dinner, she grabs her plate and books it back to her room. In the process, he sees her snag some of the books that… they were forced to write after everything calmed down to get their “emotions” and “traumas” out from all the shit that went down but honestly the books feel less like trauma outlets and more like foreboding biographies that stare at him throughout the day. Evie doesn’t even show up; he can hear her sneaking around in the kitchen around halfway through poking at his own dinner and almost gives in and goes apologize to her before she’s gone.

That was a thing Jess tries to drill into his brain: he goes too easy on them. Not that it should be a bad thing, normally, but he babies them and tries to keep them from the “real world.” Her words, not his. And, if he keeps trying to make up for making them mad once or twice, they wouldn’t learn anything and could  _apparently_ get into bad situations when they were older since their father didn’t force them to sulk for a few days at twelve.

He wishes he could talk to Jess or Shelby or… well, really anyone. They were the two to help him through the first few months, coaxing him out of his room with the kids sleeping by his side and a loaded rifle against the bed frame, door locked and into the open, into the public, not being a paranoid hermit.

If Shelby was here she’d ask if he’d taken his antidepressants, and if he hadn’t, wouldn’t call back until he confirmed at least thirty minutes later. Despite her somewhat grueling methods, they always helped. Hits him like a backhand and knocks sense into him.

And, even before that, they helped him out. In their own ways, sure, but he needs to thank them more for that.

Evie’s in the kitchen again. Pots and pans clank against each other and the water turns on, muffled by the sound of something underneath it. The pantry opens and stays open, creaking loudly as it does. Fridge opens and closes, then opens and closes again. She swears under her breath—he can tell that she does. Ghetto did the exact same thing when he was a kid, after all, sneaking in the kitchen late at night and swearing if he was too loud or messed something up. Beeps and then the microwave turns on. He sighs. She’s a lot more like him than she—or, him, if he’s being honest—would like to admit.

She was born a riot. Forced herself and her sister to come a month earlier than planned, sending everyone into a frenzied panic because, unlike dearest Jade, wanted the ability to exist out in the real world sooner than later, in the middle of the goddamn night. It only took an hour for her kick her way out, screaming migraines into everyone's head as she did, but she calmed down with soft coaxing that made Ghetto proud. Jess lost her ungodly shit over the baby, almost bursting into tears at the sight. Poor her. Still couldn’t carry a child herself.

Kali took her sweet fuckin’ time, extending the delivery out another two full hours. She was the first one he held—dropped ungracefully in his hands, wrapped in a purple blanket, fast asleep. She barely cried at all, staying silent and nuzzled. Ghetto remembers the camera flashing as he stared down at her, Sky in the background laughing at his expression.

Jade came later. In a panic, surprising everyone and everything.  _That_ was a wild night. But that was still when she had two parents to look after her.

He was the reason why three fucking children were brought into this world. Convinced that the rifle he kept on the wall wasn’t loaded and was there for show. That he didn’t keep a pistol in his bedside drawer. That the reason they can’t wander too far from their homes was that they live in a rural area, and could get severely lost. The sound of a kid rifling in the kitchen was the least normal sound Ghetto had heard in the last fifteen, sixteen years, yet a gunshot couldn’t faze him one bit. Evie wasn’t in the kitchen anymore, she went upstairs.

It was late. They had dinner late. Ghetto put Jade to bed an hour before and Kali and Evie were doing their own thing and he’s never been more alone.

“Dad?” Ghetto jerks his head to the sound, looking up at Jade herself, standing up a few steps on the stairs. She rubs an eye and frowns, brown hair a mess. “I had a nightmare. Can you tuck me in again?”

“Of course,” he responds. Ghetto walks his daughter up to bed and tries to ignore the Jordan-shaped hole in his heart.

It’s the end of days. He’s stuck with three children in a house he doesn’t trust in a state he doesn’t trust and twenty minutes away from anyone he knows. If Ghetto’s fast, he could get all of them out of here with zero-to-mild injuries. If he’s faster, he can grab the rifle before they go. He knows every nook and cranny of this house—if anything was askew, he would know and he would get them all out. It’s safe here. It’s safer than Seaport, Greenfield, D.C., Atlanta. It’s safer than the nights on the road and cold winter air biting his face.

Jade burrows into his chest, trapping him where he is—clever girl. She clutches his shirt in her fingers and snores quietly and from here he could scoop her up, scream at Kali and Evie to get out, and maybe jump out a window if need be. The rifle could always be replaced.

The door creaks open, letting light filter into the room in one long strand. It shuts and someone crawls into bed, her arms wrapping around his waist and head resting against his back. Kali knows where to go, he wouldn’t have to yell. Maybe he did. Maybe he overestimates his daughter's capabilities. Should he go get her? The opposite end of the bed is pushed down and he looks up to see her laying there, back to Jade. Okay. They’re all in here. Okay. Fuck.

Ghetto could get them all out in under a minute. There’s a shed right underneath Jade’s window. He built it himself, in case of emergency. Besides that, bags of dirt stacked up for reasons he never explained. He could get them to the shed, drop on the bags, and be sprinting away in case the house went up in flames in under a minute. They’d be fine. It wasn’t Greenfield. They’d all be fine.

It was the end of days. Ghetto puts a hand to the gun stashed on his belt and left it there. He should lock the doors. Keep the windows unlocked, he’d need them. Maybe grab Kali’s journal when Jade rolls off of him.

 _You’re being a fucking idiot,_ Jess’s voice sounds in his head. That’s not right. He’s being cautious.

It was the end of days. Ghetto holds the gun tighter. Maybe he needs to have a talk with his daughters. Tell them about the world and a parent they’ve never known.  _You’re not getting off that easily_ , Shelby whispers. Fucking mind lesbians and teaching him good life lessons.

“Oh, God,” Ghetto whispers. “I’m becoming my uncle.”


	2. and i heard you had another love, but i'd love you to think i don't mind

Date: 9/6/XX (reverse nice)

Kali Reid writing:

Mousie visited a few days ago. It’s as if the gods saw me praying for a chance to crack open her past like a store bought egg and said, “Hey, what the fuck, why not.” In, more specifically, a very high-pitched tone of voice. It seems fitting. God herself has blessed her lesbian daughter with a chance to speak with her cooler, lesbian-er aunt. It’s a fucking blessing wrapped up in mayhem and Uncle Monroe bringing gifts for all the little boys and girls that call themselves my cousins and and Jett who screams really loudly when he nearly falls out a window to see if “that cool bicycle helmet could protect me from fall damage!” It’s almost as if he isn’t truly fourteen, and instead if forever possessed by the longing spirit of a little boy named Thomas who’s eight and just got a cool bicycle helmet for his birthday.

But, most unfortunately, before I can get into Mousie and Uncle Monroe, I have a few other things to discuss with you readers.

First off, thank you, Jett, for confirming that I do, in fact, have readers! You called me a “pretentious Edgar Allen Poe-acting-ass bitch” and then laughed at me for using long paragraphs only a few days after my last entry was written. Your father then heard you say it and you got sent to your room both for calling me a bitch and knowing who Edgar Allen Poe was. Jokes on him, you only know who Edgar Allen Poe is through me, and have, in fact, never read anything yourself in five years. Do you know how to read? Or does Ashlyn read these out for you?

As well, Evie thanked me for putting a dirty joke in my previous entry. You are welcome, Evie. But then she called me a broad for making petty remarks at her. Seems like someone (whose name may or may not be Jett or something of the similar but why would I know?) has been rubbing off on my dearest older sister.

Ashlyn seemed hurt about my comment of footsies and that cute girl she brought back to hang out as “friends.” The way you looked at her was obvious, Ashlyn. You earned that fine kick fair and square. I’m your cousin, I was sitting at the same table as you, you should’ve known that something like this could’ve happened, and that I was to document it. I document almost everything—mostly for future chances at humiliation, but that’s besides the point. Well, anyways, congrats on stealing a kiss before your moms saw. Yes, I did see that, yes, I will not tell your parents if you promise to help me work on that math project Gray’s forcing me to do to “keep up with schoolwork and the whatnot.” I know you did that project too, I’ll copy off you if I have too. He probably wouldn’t give a shit. Too busy being a Major or whatever he does, I’m not obsessed with war and shit.

I feel like we only communicate through this journal anymore. Instead of legitimately talking to each other about issues we go, “Hey, better wait for Kali to write it down!” and then do so. Hmph, we really need to be getting out more. I’ll talk with Dad about it.

Speaking of Dad, he’s been… in a bad mood, to say the least. Paranoid as hell. Keeps rummaging through drawers and stealing looks to that wicked looking rifle that he keeps hung up. I’m pretty damn sure I saw him with a gun on his belt once or twice, too. Listen—we all know that the world has gone to shit in some way—the adults refuse to talk to us about it, and frantically deny it if we try to bring it up—but I never saw Dad as a gun-toting, “Get off my lawn you damn kids!” type of dude. We’ve all heard about his apparent “tough past” but what is that, really? What would’ve caused him to be this paranoid?

I’m… to be honest, I’m worried about him. He’s gone through phases like this—paranoid, double-checking the locks every night, rarely letting me, Evie, or Jade out of his sight… last time this happen, Aunt Jess and Shelby ended up coming over a lot with Ashlyn, apparently to “spend time with the kids!” but they always ended up stealing Dad away to have a “grownups talk!” and when they came back, none of them looked happy. There has to be something deeper, something the rest of our aunts and uncles have to know. They’ve known Dad for almost two decades, if anything really bad happened, they would know. That’s part of the reason I was planning on talking to Mousie—since she isn’t around as much, maybe she doesn’t know the rules about “blah blah don’t tell the kids fucking anything and let them Nancy Drew their way around.” I don’t know who or what Nancy Drew is, I just heard Ashlyn use it in that context what and hey, what works, works.

Got some bad news from Gray yesterday as well, apparently. Was torn up about it all day. Didn’t sleep at all—went to get something to drink in the middle of the night and he was still up, pouring over notes. Ended up feeling bad while rummaging through the fridge and ended up making both of us hot chocolate before going back to my room. He looked surprised, but grateful. Thanks for teaching me that, Jess.

Now, time for the good stuff: Mousie. Last time I saw her and Monroe, they were as normal as could be—well, in fairness, that was at least a year ago, so I can’t judge her actions, which I’m not in the first place—and now she has an undercut and Monroe helped Jett write “Fuck Blue Lives!” on a plain t-shirt. Legends. When I’m older, I want to dye my hair like Mousie does. Purple’s a nice color.

I’ll look into hair dyes after I finish writing this. It’s something to consider, dying my hair. Maybe when I’m older, if I get really bored. Ashlyn, you’ve dyed your hair before, gimme some tips after this.

Back to Mousie and Cool Uncle Monroe. Like smart teenagers (most of us), instead of directly confronting Mousie, we sent Jade to go talk to her with specific instructions. Don’t worry, we swore her to secrecy with promises of half of Jett’s candy stash. He didn’t want to agree so I said we wouldn’t then when he left I repromised it, of course. Jett, you have no proof I did it. Dad refuses to look in my journal, so eat shit. She, of course, immediately agreed to do it when we promised her that, so there Jade went. Truly a hero of her times.

It didn’t take Mousie long to notice her. Quite the opposite, even, since she was in the corner and could see anyone walking towards her almost immediately. “Oh, hey, Jade,” she said, oblivious to the mental interrogation she was about to go through. We (i.e. me) had Jade practice several different questions repeatedly so we (i.e. me) could get them down in her head. Imagine, coming this far only to have her fuck-up at the last minute. A tragedy.

“Hi, Mousie!” Jade chirped, eager as ever. Of course, she was probably thinking of the candy she was going to be getting in the future, and not of the very important and crucial questions she had to ask Mousie. “Can I ask you a few things?”

“Of course?” Mousie looked confused. But she quickly wiped it off and regained her previous collected composure. At this point, I could hear Monroe and Jett getting into some shit and mentally willed Jade to hurry on with the fucking questions before either of them could get dragged into that mess. I think Jett was revolting against blue lives again. I personally know that Monroe had no fucking idea what that was but wanted to support the youth in whatever they pleased so Jett decided to take advantage of that to destroy cop propaganda. Little does he know, his father used to be a cop before deciding “fuck that” and quitting. I could ruin his day at any point in time, I even have the files to prove it. Mostly because Barney is fun to talk to because he keeps forgetting not to swear in front of us younger folk and swears even more when he realizes that.

“Who did you meet first?” Jade responded, shuffling on her feet. Probably wanted to check out what Jett was doing, before remembering my promise of candy. Smart. “Like, out of our parents? Who did you see first? Know first?”

“Oh, I met N—” At this pointed Mousie blanched and nearly visibly stepped back, backtracking with an awkward laugh that I nearly missed, Jett having thrown something at the wall that made a very loud sound. “I, uh, I mean I met Ghetto first. Very chaotic, I’m pretty sure at least five people almost died at that point of time. Wasn’t the best point to meet but hey, we’re here now!”

That motherfucker. The return of this mysterious “starts to say a name with the letter N before quickly backtracking and then shrugging it off like it didn’t happen.” It’s like talking about some dog and starting with L before rewinding and trying to explain yourself. We fucking get it! It’s Laika! Flying me to the moon and watching me choke from the lack of oxygen would be kinder than the void of information that you let rot in my mind, you dumb bitches. Everyone I’ve met has fucking done it, it pisses me off to no end. Who the hell is N? And how the fuck are they connected to the mystery of my lack of another parent and the even lack-er of any information on them?! I’m fucking related to my dad, Ghetto/Jesper! Fuck! Laika, let me live in a world of peace! Don’t let me die on the moon!

“Oh,” Jade said, blinking all innocently up at her in the way only little kids are capable of. “I have more questions, if you wanna answer them.”

“Of course.” Mousie looked a little bored by this point. Rolling her eyes at the excited sound Jade made in response. “You did ask if you could ask me a few things. I’d be more surprised if that was your only question.”

“Oh! That’s right!” Jade looked embarrassed. She thought to herself for a few seconds, allowing Jett’s nonsense to play loudly in the background. I love my baby sister very much but? I was near strangling her for taking so fucking long. Mousie was sneaking glances towards the noise and I was about to give up the Jade plan and ask her questions myself. Jett lost all of his hoarded candy because of this incident, because the things he was doing were pissing me off enough. Fuck you, Jett, I needed answers and you were making that very, very hard for me.

My sister resumed her questioning after then, and I heaved a sigh of relief. “How long have you known Dad? Like, a few years, or more? You guys seem really close!”

“Oh, God. That’s… that’s a very good question.” Mousie scratched her chin. She didn’t, I’m just putting that in there to make this text more interesting to you readers. “Uh, maybe seventeen or eighteen years? Damn, that’s a lot longer than I thought. I’m old. Anyways, we met a year or two after this whole thing—uh, a few years after something big in my life happened so I can recall it quite clearly. Why do you wanna know?”

That absolute motherfucker. She’s pulled two “starting sentence with something then cutting it off quickly and backtracking.” This time, it’s not even about the mysterious N. What does “after this whole thing” mean? Is there like, some big conspiracy my Dad’s a part of that I haven’t learned of? Is that what everyone’s hiding from us kids when they refuse to let us travel more than a few miles away from our residents (other than to visit folks, of course). And why does it have to be some big fucking secret? Ashlyn’s almost fifteen, if anyone was to know, it should be her—and if she knew anything, I’d know. Guaranteed. She’s a horrible liar. Almost as bad as Evie is. “Oh, I thought I said it before,” Jade said. “You guys seem really close, and I know that my Dad’s known people for very long times!

“Well, also,” Jade continued, “do you know why my last name is Lynx? No one else will answer me when I ask. Kali and Evie’s names are Reid, like Dad, so why isn’t mine? What makes me special?”

That was a Kali special. I almost had her say something that could make a grown-ass adult question their entire life because a fucking seven year old was asking them some out of body shit but I decided against it because she would know. She would know who was putting those words in Jade’s mouth. My plan would be ruined. Mousie had a pure look of “oh, fuck, oh, shit” on her face. Eyes wide, mouth stretched into a half-line half-smile, and absolutely all color draining from it. Whatever the answer to that question was, it was definitely not something Mousie wanted to answer. Which was exactly why I fucking needed her to answer it right fucking away.

“Uh. Fuck.” Iconic lines from Mousie, who was turning her head around back and forth wildly to check if anyone was listening to them. I was, of course, so I ducked away so she wouldn’t realize I was eavesdropping. “You’re like, six or seven, right? You won’t fully remember this conversation when your older, right?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Mousie looked relieved. “Oh, thank God, that’s a yes. So, uh, kids usually have different last names because they take on the last name of their other parent. So, Kali and Evie have a different last name from you, since they take theirs from Ghetto and you don’t. You got that?”

Jade nodded. “So who do I take my last name from?” At this point, however, Mousie saw me looking over eagerly and hastily shoved Jade away saying that she had to do something and didn’t have time for more questions, then told me to fuck off as she passed by on her way to check out what Jett and Monroe were doing, so I didn’t get that answer. Jade crossed her arms and stormed away, since that was the question she legitimately wanted answers for, but alas, got a whole zero. It, too, was the answer I legitimately wanted answers for as well so I was fuckin’ pissed as well but I can’t be as mad. I was the reason she didn’t get her answer answered, after all. Curious how Mousie mentioned that she probably wouldn’t remember that conversation in a few years. As if what she had to tell Jade wasn’t something she should have been telling her…

Anyways, I’m going to go over the answers now, since I have ideas and reasoning for all of them. I’ll be talking from least important to most important. First, “Who did you meet first?” I added that on more to see if Mousie’s later answers were to be reliable, since my reasoning would have to be changed if not. I know for a fact that Jess and Barney had known Dad for a similar amount of time, just a year or too longer. Unlike Shelby and Sky, who, as far and I’ve known, have known him for a pretty fucking long time. So, her answers are reliable. Thank God, I didn’t want to have to rip down all the previous ideas I had and start from scratch.

Second, “Who did you meet first?” This question is pissing me off. She, obviously, met whoever this “N” person was, but had to lie and say she met Ghetto first, when in reality, she probably met him second or third. Whoever this N person is has to be pretty relevant to my Dad’s life, since they’re brought up so fucking much. And, if Mousie met them first, does that mean that they knew my dad for even longer than Mousie? Than Jess and Barney? Then Shelby and Sky, even? Dad was a part of a large group of people, from what I’ve heard, and N more than likely was a part of that. How long did Dad know this person? Would they have known who Lynx is? Is this N person even alive? Dad and the others don’t like to talk about the dead often, so it’s a miracle whenever I hear them talk about them. I’ve only heard Jess mention her own parents once or twice, and that was when eavesdropping between her and Ghetto. Is everyone's parents not around? They’re not old enough to have their parents to be dead. Hell, Barney’s the oldest, and he’s not even in his mid-forties. What happened to them?

Third, “Do you know why my last name is Lynx?” Oh, that was the fucking jackpot. I’ve gotten more from Mousie in a five minute conversation that I wasn’t even a part of than I’ve managed to squeeze out of the people I know in my whole twelve, almost thirteen, years of living. Mousie clarified that there was someone else and it wasn’t just aesthetic choices on my dad’s part so that’s amazing, since I don’t have to rip down my conspiracy wall. And the fact that she’s not supposed to be telling Jade that is fucking amazing. Absolutely outstanding. I’m also, personally, happy that my choice of calling this mystery parent “Lynx” was appropriate for both the situation, and because that was their last name, if Mousie wasn’t lying (which I don’t believe she was. Why would she be so worried about telling Jade that information if she was?).

We’ve made a lot of progress with trying to figure out Lynx is, without even a word from Dad or anyone closer to him. Mousie not being around here as much turned out to be a fucking good thing, despite how disappointing it is, since she’s extremely cool. In all honesty, I feel sort of bad trying to figure all of this out with how bad Dad seems to be getting. He’s a wonderful father, and I know Evie and Jade don’t notice anything off, but with this project, I have, and it’s a little worrying. I hope nothing happened—

Sorry about that cut off. My cat, Miss Pussy, jumped up onto my lap and scared the ever living shit out of me. If you’re wondering why I named my cat “Miss Pussy,” it is because that I, an innocent seven-year-old, wanted a cat and when I got one, didn’t realize how bad it was to use a name such as Miss Pussy, and my dearest father didn’t have the heart to tell me to name her something else.

Before I sign off, I would like to note something. A few days ago, Dad asked me to get something from his room because he was “too lazy to.” This lead to a long-lasting argument of outstonishing proportions that made Evie scream at us from upstairs to shut up since it was ruining the movie she was watching and I yelled back something very rude and then got put in a equally as rude headlock as Dad noogied me to all hell and then shoved me towards the stairs. In an act of defiance, I stalked upstairs, open my door, then shut it really hard to make it seem like I was going to my room then dashed across the hall to his room as quietly as possible.

In it, I got the thing he asked of me (it was an old book) but I… found something. On his bedside drawer, half-pushed behind a stack of books and a fucking Gun on top of them, was a framed picture. Upon closer inspection, it was a picture of four people: My dad, but several years younger, a golden-brown haired person with sunglasses, a light-haired man wearing the ugliest shade of orange I’ve ever seen, and a brown-skinned individual with Dad’s arm wrapped around his waist and laughing, really hard, from the look of it. Who are these people, and how do they know my father?

Goodnight readers.

—Kali

* * *

“You okay?”

A hand rests on his shoulder as Ghetto turns around to look at the voice. Mousie is standing behind him, more than a few inches shorter, looking up at him with concern in her eyes and voice. It’s been over a year since he’s last seen her, and the undercut doesn’t look half bad, but the soft tone isn’t like her and he knows immediately Jess and Shelby have been talking to her. _God fucking dammit._

“I’m fine,” he says, trying to play it off as cool. Shrugs off her shoulder and grins, trying to make a show of looking at her new haircut. “Didn’t realize you were an undercut type of person, when were you gonna tell me? I knew you listened to _Against Me!_ , you can’t lie to me.”

Mousie levels a glare at him and Ghetto cringes before he can stop himself. So that was the kind of conversation they were going to be having. “Alright, what the hell did Jess tell you, I haven’t seen you look at me like that in years. Or was it Shelby? It had to be one of them, they refuse to fuck right out of my personal life.

“Sky, actually,” Mousie responds, and he’s legitimately surprised. Sky? He didn’t realize that Sky was that involved. Jess probably told him something or the other. Dammit, Ghetto was going to see him practically knock down his door and demand to have some sort of therapy session to work through his fucking feelings. He’s done that a few times, the occasions getting fainter as the years went by. Last time was long enough ago that Ghetto had to think to remember what they talked About. Fuck, shit, those were always annoying.

“Didn’t know you were talking to Sky. When did you see him? I thought you came into our little side of the woods this morning?”

“And that’s when I saw him,” Mousie says, rolling her eyes. “Me and Monroe ran into him before coming over here. He had quite a few things to say about you, and ended the conversation storming home and swearing he was going to have a long talk with you.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep. You deserve that. Have you been eating properly? Spending enough time with your kids?” Mousie returns the hand on his shoulder.

Ghetto shrugs it off—again. “Fuck off, you’re not my mom. Of course, I’m spending enough time with my kids, and I’m eating dinner every night, so what? I’m fine, honestly, Mousie, you don’t need to worry about me. I already have Jess and Shelby to piss me off about that.” He adds the last part in an undertone, muttering.

Mousie fixes him with a stony look. “You better not be lying to me about that. If you are, I just might have to start coming around even more. To, y’know, piss you off and everything. Maybe even hang out with Jess and Shelby some more and find out everything I need to know from them.”

“Get off my dick! I’m doing fine, I don’t need any of you to worry about me.”

“It’s been years and you _still_ are acting like this. Are you sure you’re okay? Because it doesn’t seem like it to me.”

“What did I say before? Get off of it! Fuck _right_ off! I don’t need your pity or reminder of past fuckin’, mess-ups and everything. I’m doing just swell as a single dad chilling on my own with my kids with occasional visits from friends! I could star in a fucking coming of age movie as that good, understanding cool parent who friends love him! I am the definition of okay!”

His hands curl into fists before he can stop them and his breath is getting ragged and _fuck, okay, Ghetto, calm down, you’re fine you’re okay you fucking dumbass. Don’t work yourself up over something as trivial as this._

Mousie takes a step back and glares at him again. “I’m _fine._ I promise. I just need some time to deal with shit. Without having everyone breath down my neck like it’s going out of style.”

“Son, we’re just worried about you.”

Ghetto didn’t even see Monroe walk up. He looks older than he’s ever been, wrinkles and lines creasing his face. Mousie crosses her arm and stands next to him. God, was that ever a fucking backhand to the past. Mousie then, with her skirt and ripped-up tights and long-sleeved shirt and Monroe with his vest and jeans looking like they rolled out of a junkyard. Now, clean as ever, looking at him with gritted teeth and dirty looks and, behind that, concern. Ghetto tightens the fists his hands made and it stings like hell.

He breathes out through his teeth. “I’m fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (p.s., if y'all wanna ask kali questions yourselves, i could probably play it off as ashlyn/jett/evie asking her wink wink nudge nudge)


	3. the baby in your arms ain't mine, but i made believe as though it was

12/13/XX

Kali Reid writing:

I went through Dad’s room again. I don’t know why I did it, since he was downstairs and I would most definitely get in trouble if he found his wonderful, kind, sweet, behaved child snooping around his private space (not that private, since we the kids end up sleeping in it at least four times a week. It’s fun. Sometimes. Jade kicks a lot in her sleep, and either me or Evie end up sprawled across the floor, neck and back as sore as the feet of high school teenagers, forced to run another mile underneath the pulsing hot sun, sweat sticking to their backs and necks, panting as every last bit of water from their cold, metal water bottle sunk back into their throats, leaving their mouth dry and cracking. The sun is unrelenting. The teacher yells at another pair of girls for walking and talking).

But, before I get into that, as fucking always, I’d like to say a few things. First off, imaginary readers, how have you been? Jett you’re not allowed to answer this, I know you’re still bitching about your broken arm and, no, I do not want to hear about it. I already got enough shit from your parents for making fun of you for it. Not my fault that you have no fucking idea how to climb a tree. Not my fault you don’t know how to get down from one, either. Sky all taught us not even a year ago! You should have remembered. You are still not free from my taunting, because you have no evidence and Ghetto is always on my side for everything, since I’m a good, smart kid, so SUCK IT. (My daddy could kick your daddies asses!)

Two, Dad, if you ever do read this, none of the things I am doing are from malice, or because I’m mad at you for keeping things from us. Okay, sure, I might be a little upset, but there are some things that I’ve seen shake you related to whatever past you have—and nothing shakes you. I understand that you wouldn’t want to tell your young children anything, or, in general, anyone under eighteen anything. You know some things that I don’t think the normal man should know. Trust me, I’ve heard you talk about some… shit to Auntie Jess and Uncle Sky, and damn, does it sound disturbing.

I do wish that you’ll be able to talk to me, Evie, and Jade about whatever bothers you eventually, but not now. Whatever it is that’s bothering you is, obviously, not suited for our young ears to see. Or hear. Shit I should’ve written hear. Can’t take it back, now, because I write in purple pen and purple pen only! Goddammit. Kali why do you keep fucking doing this, absolute dumbass of the month right here.

We got a lecture from Dad not too long ago about hounding Mousie. Mousie, I’m not sorry, but I’m also kind of sorry because the whole event looked like it stressed you out. But I’m not sorry in general because I really, really needed answers and you made the rookie mistake of letting Jade approach me without looking to check if me or Jett or Ashlyn or even Evie were scheming in the background. Beginner’s mistake, you should know better than to let her even LOOK at you without searching the room first.

Also, a few days ago, me and Evie turned thirteen. Jess ran over in the early hours of the morning to plan a celebration and I locked my door and got to sleep in while Evie and Jade were forced to help, as well as Dad. It’s Jess 101, she can’t get past locked and barricaded doors; you should always have an easily pushable desk or other piece of furniture and a solid lock if you want to get past her bullshit. Until she learns to get through windows, which I’ll deal with when it happens. I’d put nothing past her.

Eventually I had to wake up because my dad had to deal with my hair. Oh, how I wish I had Evie or Jade’s hair, curly enough to look good but still wavy enough to not be a total mess. We all have thick hair, but mine is untamable when I sleep on it wrong. Dad kept muttering about how even his hair wasn’t this bad when he was younger and then almost broke a comb trying to get out a tangle. Then he gave up and told me to go wash my hair with conditioner. Personally, I should have done that since the start, but Ghetto was praying we wouldn’t have to resort to that, even though he has to do the exact same thing.

Took me two hours to deal with my hair. I’m considering cutting it down to shoulder length one of these days. At least I won’t have to wash it for at least another two or three weeks. I don’t know how Jess deals, having to wash her hair so often because it’s straight. Or, at least, much straighter than mine is.

We had a party and Evie threatened Jett into giving me an actual gift because he said he got me one but then decided that he would keep it for himself, because of how I made fun for him for breaking his arm. Evie said, cheerfully, that she’d “break your other arm too!” if he didn’t hand it over. Then his moms walked in so he had to stop being a dick and give it to me and, as always, I won the everlasting feud between us two. Again, Jett, Suck It.

It was a… very good day. After everyone else left, Dad let us stay up till three AM and watch movies. He had to put away Jade at eight, though. Then he came back and let us eat as much ice cream as we wanted and even let us watch an R-rated movie (we lied about the rating to him, he thought it was PG-13. Never trust your kids when they say that a movie’s “appropriate” for them to watch. Evie throwing the case halfway across the room to try and avoid him busting us was pretty entertaining and I think he knew we were lying but wasn’t too sure. And also Evie threw the case halfway across the room when he wasn’t looking so he didn’t even have any way to check until after; he chewed us out for lying to him but it was worth it. What are we but two little kids, stacked on top of each other in a trenchcoat, wobbling to the movie theater so we can see an R-rated movie? Yes, ma’am, I very much am an adult and very much would like to see your adult rated movie. Here’s my ID, I am Adult McAdultson and am of adult age of being grown. No, I am not two kids in a trenchcoat, ignore the giggling from underneath me. Yes I am an adult. I do adult activities such as adulting around and doing taxes and yelling at the TV when my sports team loses a game. Not all adults do that? Well, this adult does, since I am totally an adult. Heh).

God, I need to stop getting off-topic all the time. It’s going to be the death of me. It’ll be written on my grave: “Kali Reid. Died of getting too off-topic and going on long rambles about something no one but me cares about.” It truly shall be a tragedy; everyone who can keep on task at my will be weeping on task tears for me

I went through Dad’s room. I’m actually back in it now, just to make sure I’ve gotten all my information right. If he catches me in here we’re done for ladies and gentlemen, but it’ll be worth it for the pursuit of science and information. He may take our sources (and ground me for a week) but he’ll never take away our spirits and determination! Long live the revolution, motherfuckers; they won’t take us alive.

In his room I went to look at that picture again. Now that I’ve gotten a better look at it, I can conclude that everyone in that photo was more than likely in their early twenties, including Dad, which means that the photo must’ve been taken years ago; probably a few years before I was born, even. Other than Dad, the oldest (second oldest?) looked like the light-haired man (platinum blonde, or a very pale blonde, the more I look at it) in the ugly shirt.

The second guy (next to ugly shirt man) was… he—fuck. Fuck shit. I just looked at the dude who Ghetto had his arm around and… Jesus Christ. He looks like… he looks like Evie and Jade what the actual fuck. The same hair, both texture, and color, different face shape n’ shit, because they both got theirs from Ghetto but… he has mine? I think? What the actual hell, why didn’t I look this closely at him before? God, he has the exact same eye color as Jade, and as Evie’s did when she was younger. Her one green eye, anyway. What the fuck.

Okay. Okay! I will deal with this later after I finish this entry. But the second guy, the one with blue eyes and golden brown hair, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen other pictures of him. I can’t be completely sure, but I’m pretty sure his name’s “Shark” and that he’s a very long-term and very old friend of Ghetto’s. Jess has brought him up before! She didn’t say much, she just said that, to their knowledge, he lives (or lived) in a city a few hours away from here, and that they haven’t heard from him in a long time. Fell out of contact, or something. Jess told me this when I was eight and probably expected me to forget but jokes on her I have a mind like a sponge and remember anything and everything anyone and everyone tells me.

I found several other pictures. A few of Jess, Sky, and Barney, when they were much, much younger. They were standing in front of a giant white structure behind them, vaguely building shaped and smiling brightly. But they also all looked extremely tired. They must’ve all been going through something terrible. Probably related to whatever Dad’s gone through, and what Shelby’s gone through, and what… all of them went through.

A picture of Aunt Shelby, at a table, with her feet kicked up. That one was older, because Ashlyn was in the background, playing with blocks on the ground. There was a small bush of black hair peeking out the corner, which must’ve been Aunt Jess.

There were… a few pictures of people I’d never seen before. Or heard of before. At least, to my knowledge.

Two men sitting around a table, deep in conversation. One of them was dark-skinned and wearing some sort of military uniform, or something, and the other was fair with brown hair and obvious wrinkles and in a lab coat of some sort. There was a large whiteboard behind them with words I couldn’t make out scribbled across them. I did not recognize the room that they were in. The date was scribbled on the back, something almost _fifteen_ years old. The month was washed out by time so I couldn’t get that but Jesus Christ was the picture old. Probably the same age as the one with Ghetto and those three guys.

Two more men. One with black-and-blue hair and a stupid eyepatch, and the other sandy blonde with a tattoo stretching across the left side of his face, head to chin. Jesus Christ, this one was even older. At the bottom was scribbled, “10/1/20XX, cory n uni just got back from a supply run, arguing like idiots,” in handwriting I didn’t recognize. Ah. So… that was who they were. I’m not gonna lie, they looked a lot different in this one than the others. Younger, less filtered, more alive. It wasn’t blurred or extremely dark or mildly scribbled out, like all the others. It felt… raw.

A picture of Aunt Shelby and the guy from before, the one who looked like… well, you know. In this picture, they looked like teenagers, like how Ashlyn does. This picture was peeling and had stains and little cuts and marks scattered all around, from whatever the hell. Something that was a drink spill. Water damage. The only place not affected was their faces, grinning wide with eyes blazing. Caption: Scribbled out. Scribbled out wasn’t the caption, the actual caption was scribbled out. For whatever reason.

Several more pictures. I remember seeing ones that Dad had taken down, years back. I’ll need to go back and get them so I can provide more details. But the general gist was that they all revolved around the same group of people: My Dad, Aunts, and Uncles and a few unknown people I didn’t know about. There were some… much, much older ones, of a lady with amber eyes and dark hair and red-haired man with green eyes and the thing closest to “grandparents” I’ll ever get and… the boy again.

These were all of much better quality. He looked closer to Jade’s age, maybe seven, eight, or nine. He had the same hair color and curls of me and Dad, the same dark skin as us, the same green eyes as Jade and… He was smiling really wide in this orange and black striped hoodie, probably meant to resemble a tiger or cheetah or some different animal close to the two of them. He really does look like me. Except for the eyes. That’s the only thing I share with nobody in the family.

The… the last photo I found was different. It was stashed at the bottom, underneath a very boring pile of photos of mundane things. Walls covered in graffiti, a bedroom, a big white structure, the same as the backdrop of that one Jess/Sky/Barney picture.

It was even slipped underneath a crack in the box, half poking out from the cut in the bottom. I just barely noticed it while putting everything back and planning to run because I hadn’t heard anything from downstairs in a while and was absolutely doomed to get found eventually. I risked my life trying to see that picture, as well stashed as it was.

It seemed like someone wanted it to be hidden.

It was of Dad. Ghetto looked happier in this photo than I’d ever seen him, in real life, in picture, in video; I have literally never seen him smile that wide, and I’m his fucking daughter! That should say a lot about it already. He looked awfully tired, eyes drooping slightly, but they were damn near twinkling and he just looked… so happy. God, this is gonna sound weird as fuck and is gonna make me uncomfortable to write but, hell, he even looked _in love_ with whoever he was staring at. Ugh. He’s my dad, that’s weird to think of, but he really did! Like the way Aunt Shelby and Jess look at each other, but stronger.

He was standing upright, the background of his office; I know that because I used to sneak into it all the time and steal the candy that he used to keep in a drawer. When he still went in there and worked, anyways. I don’t think I’ve seen him enter that room in at least two years. Must be dusty as hell in there. But it looks different from the office I saw most of the time. It looked how it did when I was younger, like seven, like Jade’s age. I can’t actually believe I can still remember it now. Wow. I knew I had a good memory. But goddamn, that was like six years ago! I can’t believe I actually remember it. I miss that place. It was always fun, going in there while Dad was working and hiding under the desk and playing with the pens until he gave in and played with us, instead of being a boring adult and doing his taxes, or whatever it is that he does. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t think I’ve actually ever seen my dad do taxes, or anything of the like. That’s fucking weird. Is it just me or is that extremely weird. Don’t people need to do taxes? Maybe he does them when us (the kids) aren’t around.

The room was dim, with faint light shining through the blinds. Probably early morning, if I had to say. And I do say. The lamp he kept until it wouldn’t work for real was sitting on his desk, turned out and lighting the rest of the room with warm light—at least, the part of the room that was light.

He’s dancing. His mouth looks like it’s moving to some song lyric. His hand is wrapped in someone else’s, an looped around his neck and buried in his hair, his other arm out of wrap and, presumably, on the hip or waist on whoever else is in the photo with him. He’s in a tee-shirt and pajama pants, the ones he used to always wear and then had to get rid of when he wore them ragged, the color washing out and small holes appearing. He started sleeping in his regular clothes after that. He’s had to get rid of a lot of clothes that he used to wear when I (and Evie, I guess) were younger. Some of them he didn’t even have an excuse for; just said that the memories associated with them were “too strong” as he threw them in the trash with plans to buy new pajamas or a new coat or a new shirt, but he never did. At least, to my knowledge.

The other side of the photo was ripped off. There was only the second half of the caption. I don’t know whoever it was he was dancing with, what they looked like, who they were, but for some reason, that photo was ripped. I searched for the second half but couldn’t find it; Ghetto probably threw it away, or something, if something made him so upset that he had to rip apart a very nice photo. This is very confusing to me. Why would he rip apart a photo? None of the other ones are ripped (just bruised!) so why is this one?

I wonder if that person was “Lynx,” whoever they were, the supposed other parent of Jade and, more than likely, me and Evie. Dad never said that we weren’t related and/or one of us was adopted AND/OR that we were half-siblings, so…

…  

I keep trying to write but I keep thinking about that photo. Why was it ripped? Who would make Dad want to rip a photo apart? He got on Jett’s ass one time, for almost destroying a glass frame and the picture inside, so why would he willingly do this? Was it even Dad who destroyed it? Who was the other person in the photo? When was this taken—years before, or when I was six or five or something? Nothing seems to be adding up. I came here to look for evidence, not to have a conflict over pictures! There were journals and books stashed in Dad’s room but I kept looking through the photos because I thought they would be the most useful to me. What the fuck. Everything I learn just seems to be more and more conflicting. I thought Dad had a good relationship with Lynx? He had three children with whoever they were. If that person even was Lynx—god, fuck, I hate this whole thing. I’m going to search for the second half of the photo and will not come back until I find it. As the cool kids say, BRB.

* * *

Kali drops her journal with a huff, sliding her pen in between the pages so she doesn’t lose her spot. (Of course, she caps it, first, no need to have the pen bleed ink everywhere. That would fuck up everything, and she can’t have that happen! Not when her journal is so precious to her. And everyone who reads it, even though she’s told them not to.)

The box of photos is slid underneath the desk that held that one photo, of Dad and his friends, and she carefully slides it out and towards her. The thing is heavy, and she’s paranoid that someone downstairs might hear her and get suspicious. If there is anyone downstairs anymore. She doesn’t know where Dad went or what Evie is doing which—which is kind of scary if she thinks about it. Kali wouldn’t want him walking in on her snooping around his stuff.

One by one, she takes out all the photos she already saw. Then, she goes through the ones left, hoping to find part two. If she doesn’t find it here, she’ll look somewhere else; Kali has to know who’s on the other side.

More Aunts and Uncles. More people she doesn’t know. More torn pictures.

She puts the torn ones to the side, her list of “photos I need to find the other half to” growing bigger and bigger and making her more and more frustrated as she goes through half the stack in little under five minutes, none of the jagged edges fitting in place with the one from before. Her dad’s face taunts her, from the picture.

“Fuck,” Kali mutters under her breath as the pile comes to an end. “Shit fuck dammit. Ughhh come on, come on! It has to be here somewhere…”

Her internal (or, external, after she realizes she was talking out loud the entire time) becomes louder as she dumps the pictures back into the box and goes through it again, just in case she missed something, just in case there was a clue in any of the other pictures that she had skimmed past, positive that she already saw it.

When the light flicks on, she’s almost grateful, since it was damn near impossible to see anything with it off. And then she freezes, stiffening in place, hunched over a box on her Dad’s floor with his stuff in her hands—stuff that she was most definitely, positively, absolutely not supposed to either one) know about, two) go through without asking or, three) go through at all. Later, she will say that a single bead of sweat drips down her face, to increase the dramatics of the whole situation. Right now? Kali feels like a deer in headlights.

With a quick prayer (she was an atheist) and her will already being written out in her mind, Kali drops the photos, and, excuses already filling her mind (despite the fact that she was caught red-handed) she turns slowly, a forced smile already creeping onto her face.

Standing in the doorway, an expression of surprise, then anger, then betrayal, then just… nothing flashing across his face, is her dad, one hand on the light switch and the other holding the door frame. She expects him to say tons of different things: How he thought he heard something, how he was sure it was going to be a raccoon or intruder or something, how she was grounded for a month, yelling at her, telling her how disappointed he was. She’d… never done anything like this, exactly, but saw how parents acted on TV and in the books. (Her dad never got mad.) 

His eyes drift to the photo still in her hand; the one of him dancing, singing along to some soundless song. And instead of yelling, instead of grounding her, instead of some witty remark, he says, confused, mildly betrayed, mildly upset, mildly all of the above and nothing at all, he  _says_ , “Kali?”


End file.
